


bottle it up

by fated_addiction



Category: K-pop, Real Person Fiction, Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: For the record, this is not Irene’s idea.Or, Irene, Wendy, and the problem with Friends With Benefits.
Relationships: Bae Joohyun | Irene/Son Seungwan | Wendy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 289





	1. 1.

-

For the record, this is not Irene’s idea.

“You’re not my type, otherwise I’d be all for a mutually beneficial _thing_ ,” Jennie says to her, right before Irene pegs her with a napkin to her face. She grins, throwing the napkin back. “But I really think you should consider it. I’m sure there’s plenty of people that would step up to the plate.”

Neither of them have said the words again. Jennie, much to Irene’s dismay, alternates between being amused and _actually_ serious. The only reason she hasn’t murdered her friend is because she’s two glasses of wine in and their food hasn’t appeared yet.

“You’re stressed,” Jennie points out.

“Ugh, shut _up_.” Her face feels hot. “I can’t even begin to wrap my head around what you’re saying.”

Jennie scoffs. “Yes, you can.”

“I’m not sleeping with you!”

Irene says it loud enough for her own embarrassment to burst. Her hand claps over her mouth. Her face is hot and Jennie erupts into laughter, falling back against her chair.

“It’s not funny,” she mutters. Her hands hold her face. “You’re such an ass.”

“You just proved my point.”

Jennie points her wine glass in her direction. The words have yet to be said. _Friends with benefits_. Irene doesn’t know where or how the conversation began. She knows she’s just exhausted and their dinner is entering the forty-five minute mark, no appearance in sight. Luckily, it’s a hole in the wall restaurant that no one ever seems to remember to stop by in. The food is really good and after a whirlwind two months of a schedule she never is quite sure how she survived, dinner with Jennie seemed like a nice break.

Until sex came up.

“I proved nothing,” Irene says. Pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “I’m also not a prude. Here, I thought you were just going to suggest your Pilates teacher.”

Jennie grins. “No, she’s definitely mine.”

Irene throws her hands up. “But why even -“ Her voice drops to a dramatic whisper. “Suggest sex? When did I say that’s what I needed?”

“Because you’re a big bundle of manic energy these days. Because who really wants a relationship? And also, let’s be honest - relationships suck literally across the board. So, you know, channel your energy into practical purposes.”

“I should just get a hobby.”

“Yah, Joohyun, who has _time_ for a hobby?” She’s only half-serious. “You could ask plenty of people.”

“You keep saying that. And I’m going to keep ignoring you.”

“What about Joy?”

Irene chokes on her wine. “She’d kill me,” she replies, somewhat reluctantly. This is crazy, she thinks.

“Seulgi?”

“Joy would bring me back to kill me again,” Irene says. She shudders. “And anyway, Seulgi has her own set of complications.”

Jennie shrugs. “And it would be weirdly incestuous, thinking about it - even though your chemistry is hot.” Jennie leans across the table. “Should I go through the Twice members?”

“I _literally_ can’t stand you.”

“Well, you can’t have any of my girls.” Jennie’s almost haughty. “We’re all a damn mess as it is anyway - oh!” She grins. “Wendy!”

At this moment, the food decides to show up. The waiter is insanely apologetic, bumbling through offers of “more wine?” and “we appreciate the business!” like they are about to walk. Irene is too busy staring at Jennie as if she’s lost her mind anyway, her mouth open as Jennie gently waves of the waiter. Maybe it’s the wine, she tells herself, trying desperately to ignore the tidal wave of thoughts that slam into her. You know you think about her, she tells herself. And that’s only the _first_ accusation.

She opts for water and not wine, chugging the glass without a breath. Jennie starts to laugh when the waiter disappears.

“It actually makes the most sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Jennie raises an eyebrow. “Bet you she’ll agree with me. On all counts. She’s the most reasonable out of all you. And the least problematic for _you_.”

“I literally don’t know what to say to you.”

“I’m brilliant?”

“Asshole.” Irene alternates between falling into a mess of nerves and just being pissed off. She bites her lip. Her face still feels hot. Her mouth opens and closes. “I really don’t know what to say to you,” is all that she comes up with again.

The problem is that there is a small grain of truth in all of this. Wendy is, of course, the most reasonable and Irene, of course, is the most practical and in that, in that it starts to become infinitely more complicated. There are things there, underneath the surface, that she hasn’t thought about in a really, really long time. That’s not even the starting point.

Right now, the only thing she can do is order another glass of wine and ignore Jennie’s shit-eating grin.

“I bet you that you’ll thank me in a week,” Jennie says.

She almost musters enough drunken courage to ask Wendy that night.

It’s really stupid and irresponsible but somehow, stumbling into their apartment, she gets herself right up to Wendy’s closed bedroom door and walks herself straight to the bathroom to shower. You’re a giant idiot, she keeps telling herself. And that seems reason enough to not do anything.

But the next morning, it’s even worse.

“Where are you?” she asks Seulgi into the phone, and the other girl has the audacity to laugh because Irene is apparently losing her mind.

“We have the day off, remember? Even Sooyoung went to see friends.”

“Ugh.” Irene groans, covering her face with a hand. “I forgot. So I’m alone?”

“Nope,” Seulgi says cheerfully. “Told Seungwanie that you were probably a mess and to feed you greasy food. She should be on her way back from her lessons.”

“I’m here.”

Irene freezes. Her bedroom suddenly becomes impossibly small. Her mouth opens and Seulgi says some kind of amused goodbye, but Irene really doesn’t hear her. Memories of last night’s dinner conversation come back to haunt her and Wendy is leaning against her bedroom door like she belongs there.

“You look okay,” Wendy greets.

“I’m sure I’m swollen,” Irene mutters. She rubs her eyes. “My mouth feels dry from the wine - I’ve been over-hydrating too.”

“I brought you breakfast. I got nine different versions of how you could be feeling.”

Irene is somewhere between panic and curiosity, but chooses to ignore both. She sits up and realizes that Wendy’s actually brought breakfast to her in her room. It’s bagged neatly and she hands it over, sitting on her bed as she puts coffee on her nightstand.

“I could _kiss_ you,” she says.

Wendy smirks. “I heard about that too,” she says, and this is where Wendy is way too reasonable.

The panic comes roaring back and she’s gripping the unopened bag of whatever like a lifeline, staring at Wendy with an open mouth. Her first thought is to kill Jennie. The second and third are mostly just a mess; she just doesn’t know what to say. There’s not even a plan of attack.

“It’s not like I was going to proposition you.” Her voice catches and she turns her head because there’s nowhere to hide. This is peak embarrassment. “Jennie’s just being, well, Jennie.”

Wendy laughs a little. Irene’s ears are ringing.

“Why not?” Wendy asks and Irene turns her head so quickly, her neck almost strains. Her eyes are huge and Wendy remains unbothered. “It’s not like any of us have time for a commitment. And I feel like you’d be cute... trying.”

Irene waves her hands around, then between the two of them. “Wait, you’d be okay with this? With me? With us?”

“Well. You’d have to brush your teeth first. And then we’d have to figure out the mechanics of, well, you _know_.”

She’s serious and that’s the part that Irene can’t understand. Well, she thinks, she can understand Wendy. She’s heavy in hyper awareness of herself and other people; she’d never do anything she didn’t want to do and there, then, Irene finds herself struggling to understand why it’s just so easy to meet her halfway without her even hesitating.

Never mind the sex part. Well, especially the sex part.

Irene groans and buries her face in her hands. “This is insane.”

“Eat your breakfast,” Wendy says. “And then shower - we’ll talk later.”

There’s amusement in her voice and Irene is pretty sure it never really left. She waits until Wendy stands again, moving to leave the room. She does pause, just briefly, meeting her gaze with some kind of unreadable expression or one, at least, Irene’s never seen before. But instead of arguing, she obeys.

What else can she do?

There is a yoga mat in the middle of the living room.

Irene’s eyes follow the empty mat to Wendy standing by the window, fiddling with her phone and humming. It feels like forever since she’s heard her voice, she thinks. And she stands there to take Wendy in.

It’s entirely too romantic of a moment and it’s an odd feeling, suddenly coming to terms with the fact that someone she sees almost every day is really, really beautiful. Wendy is just sitting on the window ledge too, breathing heavily as she stretches her arm right over her head. A few beads of sweat have gathered at her throat, trickling down slowly. She’s losing her mind, she thinks.

“How are you feeling?” She asks finally, clearing her throat.

Wendy’s mouth curls. “Okay,” she says. “Today, I’m okay.”

It’s impossibly awkward for Irene. It’s not sudden, it’s just that she doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m not good at this,” she mutters too.

Wendy reaches for a water bottle. “I mean, technically you already told me what’s going on.”

“Technically.”

“You’re being weird.”

“How can you not feel weird about it?” Her head is spinning. “I basically propositioned you.”

“You didn’t do a very good job.” Wendy puts the water down and stands, moving towards her. She stops directly in front of her, her hands moving to her hips. “You told me you didn’t do it,” she points out. “And that you were embarrassed.”

“I _am_ embarrassed.”

Wendy laughs. “I got that much.”

An angry blush settles across Irene’s face. She groans, rubbing her cheeks. The conversation feels like it’s going in circles, not that there’s any sort of point to any of this. When in doubt, she thinks, maybe just blame Jennie.

“Can we forget about this?”

“Do you _want_ to forget about this?”

“You can’t be serious,” Irene starts, then stops, her mouth opened. She’s serious, she realizes. She shouldn’t be surprised because it’s Wendy and Wendy has never not been serious about anything she sets her mind to. It’s always been part of her charm, equal parts amazing and terrifying.

But Irene’s heart is also racing again, so much so that she winds her fingers through the fabric of her t-shirt as if to stop it. Her mouth is still agape and it hits her again.

“You’re serious,” she says.

Wendy shrugs, biting her lip. “The thought of it isn’t awful.”

“Well, thanks,” she shoots back. “Appreciate that.”

“I mean, it’s true,” Wendy says dryly. “You’re beautiful and I also know you and you also know me. I also have a lot of faith in your conceptual awareness of boundaries.”

“I really don’t understand how this is so easy for you,” Irene shoots back.

“It’s not. It’s not like I’ve been around kissing other girls and guys and just been at it. I’m just as clueless as you are l. You know as well as I do that a grueling schedule is also a giant mood killer. Besides, I’ve been stuck ... well, you know.”

Wendy reaches forward, untangling Irene’s hand from her t-shirt. She’s surprisingly gentle and more surprising, Irene lets her. Jennie’s voice also lives in her head: _she’s the most reasonable_.

“So, um,” Irene hears herself say, “how do we do this?”

The whole thing is insane. As much as she wants to hyper rationalize every facet of what’s happening, she can’t and she can’t because she doesn’t understand it. She doesn’t understand how easy it is to talk to Wendy or why Wendy is being almost accommodating. She studies Wendy openly, until she realizes that her hand is still in Wendy’s and that she’s been backed up, somehow, against the arm of the couch. She can’t stop watching the other girl, watching as her teeth pucker out and slide along her bottom lip or the fact that, ultimately too, Wendy’s decisions are playing out right on her face too.

“I’m sweaty still,” Wendy murmurs. Her voice has dropped almost an octave and heat starts to curl in Irene’s belly. “Does that bother you?”

Irene swallows. “No.”

Wendy nods. She comes closer again and Irene drops to sitting on the arm of the couch, her gaze still glued to Wendy’s.

“I’m going to ask you a couple questions,” Wendy says. “Is that okay? Can you be honest?”

“Yes.”

Her response is almost immediate. Her breathing feels like they’re coming out in patches. Is it her nerves? She has no idea.

“I think I’m going to try something.” Wendy looks up at her. She bites her lip. “Do you... do you touch yourself?”

Irene feels like the world just stops. And in that moment, this really strange and important moment, she doesn’t know how to be anything but honest. Maybe it’s because the control doesn’t feel like it has to be in her hands. Maybe not.

She doesn’t say anything at first: Wendy slides between her legs, kneeling on the floor as her fingertips alternate between touching and grazing the ends of her shorts, as if to wait for her permission.

“Yes,” Irene murmurs. She doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice. “I do.”

Wendy tugs a little her shorts. “Can I touch you then?” Her voice remains even. “And can you tell me what you like - I don’t think this is going to go well if I don’t know what you like.”

Heat explodes inside her belly and Irene feels her hips rise off the arm of the couch, immediate and silent permission for Wendy to pull her shorts off. She does it carefully, her gaze never leaving Irene’s as her fingers spread over her stomach, caressing her skin lightly. It’s the small gestures that are suddenly the most profound. Somewhere in the back of her head, she thinks _I am going to go insane_.

“I close my eyes first,” she says huskily. She watches Wendy lean in and bite the inside of her thigh. Just lightly. Irene’s breath catches. “I - I feel like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to do or one of you are going to walk and I’m, well, you know.”

“Fair enough.”

Irene’s hand leaves her stomach and moves to the top of Wendy’s head, her fingers dragging lightly over her hair.

“It’s silly,” she murmurs too. “But then I slide my fingers between my legs. It’s like I have to relearn my body every time -“

She stops herself and makes a decision, suddenly guiding Wendy’s hand between her legs. It feels impulsive and then she gently guides them further, her hips rising just a little bit more as Wendy’s fingers slide into her underwear. She watches Wendy’s expression too: she’s serious, like in everything she does, and her tongue slides over her lip just before she presses her mouth into Irene’s thigh again.

“Like this?” She asks.

“Uh-huh,” Irene breathes. “You can - can you put them inside of me?”

Her face is hot but Wendy doesn’t tease her. Instead, she obeys and slides two of her fingers inside of her. It takes a minute to adjust: this is Wendy and suddenly, Wendy’s fingers inside of her spiral a much heavier distraction inside of her. She can’t help but moan and the heat in her belly seems to crawl in from everywhere, her eyes squeezing shut when Wendy’s thumb grazes that spot and oh god, they’re just starting.

“How do you want me to move?” Wendy asks.

“Slowly.”

“Like this?”

And Wendy’s fingers begin to move with a slow, almost lazy flick of her wrist. Irene is way too aware of her body now: how slick it is between her legs, how sticky her thighs are, and how her breasts have begun to ache. The reaction is hazy and heavy and nothing she ever expected - not that she did. God, she had no idea.

“It feels so _good_ ,” she hisses and insane, she thinks, this is completely insane. It’s also happening and there’s no time to come to terms with that part.

Wendy hums a little and presses her mouth against Irene’s stomach. It’s hot, she vaguely realizes, but the buildup is barreling through her anyway. She isn’t in any sort of control; it should scare her, but it doesn’t. Irene feels Wendy’s fingers change pace and her mind goes completely, clumsily dropping any point or picture she’ll forever have of how Wendy looks right now, right in front of her.

Her orgasm hits her way too hard and her hips arch high, her head dropping back as her nails scrape against the arm of the couch. She’s breathing heavily.

Oh my god, she thinks.

It takes her a minute but Wendy is standing right over her, helping her adjust sitting up. Her shorts are somewhere in the corner and Wendy’s fingers are sticky and wet.

“You look beautiful,” Wendy murmurs, her gaze full of amusement. She leans in too, her mouth grazing over Irene’s. Her mouth hovers and a deep ache settles inside of her belly. It’s not quite a kiss, but it’s certainly a declaration of something and something that Irene might not be able to let go of.

She’s also too sated to do anything, let alone move to for the moment.

Wendy still steps back. “Hope that help,” she teases.

Irene swallows, her face hot again.

There’s nothing else to say.

Jennie calls her after Music Bank.

“You look different,” she says and she’s serious, eyeing from the phone screen. “Did you do it? Did you get laid?”

Irene thanks the universe for her headphones and for the fact that Seulgi, thankfully, is fast asleep in the back of their car. Her blush is also hidden by the poor lighting in the van.

“Not exactly,” she mutters and Jennie’s grin widens. “But I still hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Irene groans softly. “I don’t even understand what happened but it was -“

“Mind blowing?”

“ _Nice_ ,” she mumbles. “It was nice.”

Jennie snorts. “That’s boring. And here I thought you’d reveal yourself to be some sort of dark and sexy person, nothing vanilla.”

“I didn’t say anything about vanilla.”

Maybe it’s Irene’s expression, maybe she’s mid-flashback because the heat is immediately pooling in her belly, but it does send Jennie into peals of triumphant laughter, where she even pumps a fist into the air and then flashes a victory sign.

“So it’s a _thing_!”

“No.” Irene is imprudent and almost firm. “It’s not a thing,” she says and maybe that’s more to herself.

Irene is also a terrible liar.


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Your dancing’s different.”_
> 
> Irene isn't as good at hiding things as she thinks.

-

“Your dancing’s different.”

Irene narrows her eyes. The worst part about dancing with Seulgi is that it’s _dancing with Seulgi_ , Seulgi who is equally as obsessive as she is a perfectionist in everything she does. Seulgi barely bats an eye at Irene’s sour expression, shrugging and sitting on the floor next to her, stretching her legs out in front of her. She’s a little more graceful than what Irene feels; that is probably what got her noticed this time around.

“It is not,” she mutters anyway, ignoring the little laugh that Seulgi lets out. “I thought I was on point.”

“I’m not saying you weren’t. Just saying you had a little more... _umph_.”

Irene hits her arm and Seulgi laughs again, dropping her head back as Irene feels her face warm with embarrassment. Their choreographer and their manager have disappeared for more water, or so they said, but they have been at rehearsals for what feels like hours. It’s been an easy distraction; Irene takes on work with a kind of gusto that even surprises herself which, if anything, is really what gets her into trouble.

“You’re reading into things that aren’t there,” she says finally, looking away. She presses her tongue against the roof her mouth and sort of makes a clicking sound, dragging it against her teeth and then sighing. “It’s just nice to only have one thing to do today.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s _true_.”

“Unnie,” Seulgi chides. “Has anyone told you how bad of a liar you are? Like you’re not just bad, you’re _really_ bad.”

“I’m not lying,” she insists, and sure, of course, that’s only partially true. She rubs the back of her neck, frowning as sweat creases back into her palm. “I’m just -“

She stops herself and stares, watching as Seulgi regards her almost lazily. Does she know, she wonders. Has Wendy said anything? Probably not. Out of all them, she thinks, Wendy is impossible to read.

“You’re what?”

Irene blinks. “What?”

Seulgi laughs. “I love you, but you’re going to have to work on whatever’s going on with you,” she says.

There’s nothing to say after that: Irene is embarrassed, painfully so, trying not to divulge that every piece of herself still remembers what happened the other night - even though, it wasn’t anything huge. It still hits her in the same way that producers tell them how they should feel when singing a love song. You should know how it feels to be in love when singing about love. The problem is that she’s not thinking about love, she’s thinking about how quickly her body reacted to Wendy, to Wendy’s fingers, to the promise of Wendy’s mouth.

“I’m fine,” she still mutters anyway. The choreographer has come back, their manager in tow with a cooler filled with water and some adjustments to their plans.

She pays very little attention. Flexes her fingers up and down. Flicks her wrists. She pretends to be so deeply into the choreography that Seulgi kicks her in the back of her leg, raising an eyebrow and hiding that she hasn’t been paying attention. She covers her though and Irene turns her irritation to someone else. This is Jennie’s fault, she thinks then. She feels petulant. There wasn’t supposed to be any attachments. Wasn’t that the whole point?

To her, that’s much more dangerous than love.

“So what now?”

Jennie’s face scrunches up into laughter on the phone screen. She’s giggling hard, almost to the point of tears while Irene remains serious since that’s the only thing she can do, outside of feeling like she’s lost her mind.

“What do you mean, what now _now_? This was something you did all on your absolute lonesome – so what now? What is that?” Jennie asks. Next to her, Lisa’s head pops onto screen, interrupting, “Are you really asking _her_ for life advice?”

She’s pushed off screen and Jennie’s left pouting and glaring; Irene just sighs, leaning against her headboard.

“Stop flirting and stop avoiding the subject. You’re the one that got me into this.”

“ _Me_?” Jennie points herself. “ _I_ did?”

Irene narrows her eyes. “Answer. The. Question.”

Jennie rolls her eyes, putting in her ear buds. There’s a pause and the screen goes dark. She can hear a door open and shut and then suddenly, Jennie is in some kind of bathroom, leaning against a sink.

“First,” she drawls. “How was it? Is this, like, your new quarantine hobby? Because I support it if it is – who knows, you might be onto something?”

“Shut up. We messed around,” she mumbles. Jennie raises an eyebrow. Irene groans. “Look, it was amazing, okay? It wasn’t sex but it was... it was mind-blowing and all those dumb knots that I’ve been carrying around - poof!”

“Poof?”

“Poof,” Irene confirms. She grows a little serious, maybe even shy. “I - she took control,” she mumbles. “It was nice that she did.” She starts to ramble a little bit too. “Maybe I’m thinking too much about it, but I mean it – it was nice letting someone else take the control and a weird feeling too? I don’t know. My brain can barely process anything that’s happened.”

Irene waits for the ridicule and the teasing because she feels like she’s admitted something huge. She’s never liked not having control, or being in the position that couldn’t take control when needed; it’s a large part of herself, it’s what makes her good at leading, at being in front of the camera, and, of course, everything in between. But it does take a toll from time to time.

Jennie remains quiet though, uncharacteristically serious as she holds her gaze on the phone screen. There’s no judgment, only understanding.

“So keep letting her.” Her friend shrugs. “The point of this is more than not having attachments, it’s to be a little more selfish and -“ Jennie grins, teasing, “- _sexy_.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Irene sighs. “Whatever.” She struggles with the concept though. Letting Wendy have control. “She might not want to and I have to be okay with that too. It’s already been a lot, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jennie says. And means it too. Her expression changes, mixing between an abundance of things - envy, amusement, and understanding.

Irene doesn’t push though. She’s right.

“I know,” is all she says.

It takes her a few days to work up the courage to find Wendy in the apartment.

It’s not like they don’t see each other; subconsciously Irene finds herself making sure that there are other people in the room, not to hide behind but more as a distraction. There’s always a lot more noise when there is five of them. Safety in numbers, you know.

But it isn’t until the other girls declare weekend plans this time, or, if she really feels honest, well, her fingers are no longer doing it for herself that she walks right into Wendy’s bedroom. They are alone in the apartment. There’s no plan and Wendy is sitting at her desk, laptop open and glasses perched on her nose. She’s too pretty, she thinks first. Then the rest of goes out the door as Wendy looks right her and not away.

“Can’t sleep?”

Irene blushes. Bites her lip. “It’s too quiet,” she lies, looking away immediately.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Wendy says, amused. “You’re avoiding me, so I figured I’d just work on stuff for my voice lessons.”

“I am not.”

“Joohyun- _ssi_.”

Wendy is teasing her; Irene’s face feels hot. She’s only wearing a t-shirt as her pajamas. The apartment is a little humid. Someone told them that they were having issues with the air system.

“Maybe it’s the humidity,” she jokes weakly, grabbing onto the excuse.

The most fascinating part about all of this is how fast and furious her reaction is to Wendy and how self-aware she becomes. It’s more than knowing that she’s standing in the room the way she is; it’s that she’s standing in the room _and_ knows that Wendy is watching her the way that she is and that she likes it.

“Maybe.”

Irene meets Wendy’s gaze. “Or maybe, I just... I don’t know. Wanted to see you.”

She tries to be pointed without having to say the words. I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t want to be in control. If it were anyone else, she thinks, this part would be different. But there’s something about Wendy, Irene thinks, where her control suddenly becomes incredibly thin and all she wants to do is give to Wendy without any hesitation.

“Well.” Wendy’s voice remains even. Her expression starts to change though. Quietly, she shuts her laptop. “You should probably figure it out.”

“I should,” she agrees.

Friends with benefits, she thinks. They haven’t actually declared those things out loud; maybe that’s why Irene is okay with all of this. Stop thinking, she tells herself too. Her eyes rake over Wendy’s form. She hasn’t moved from her chair, but the intensity of her gaze is growing and Irene’s body is starting to react.

She takes a step forward.

“I don’t want that right now,” she admits, out loud too. “I don’t want to think. I don’t want to be in charge. I just want -“

Wendy’s fingers are around her wrist. She’s ginger, but firm. Tugs her closer, to the point where she’s standing between Wendy’s legs. Irene can’t help but lick her lips. Her arousal is starting to grow too and she alternates between being slightly mystified and embarrassed. She feels like she doesn’t know her body anymore.

“Tell me what you want,” Wendy murmurs. An odd sort of confident edges her voice.

_You _, her brain replies almost immediately. “I don’t want to think,” she repeats.__

__Wendy says nothing. Instead, she moves both her hands to Irene’s hips. She pushes her gently against her desk too, licking her lips as Irene finds herself half-standing, half-sitting right on the wooden ledge. She is looking at her like she’s going to eat, piece by piece, and it sends all sorts of thoughts into her brain. She doesn’t hate them, Irene thinks. She’ll never admit to it._ _

__And then Wendy’s fingers find her underwear and start peeling it off her hips and legs._ _

__“I thought about tying you up,” Wendy says. Kind of like she’s talking about the weather. It sends a ball of heat right between Irene’s legs. “But I thought that might be overkill, given that I only have an idea of what you want.” She grins, almost wolfishly then. “But definitely what _I_ want.”_ _

__Irene is breathless. “What do you want?”_ _

__“Ah-ah,” Wendy sings and Irene hates that she hasn’t really touched her yet. “This is about you right now,” she says. “I might tell you about it some other time.”_ _

__There isn’t any warning -_ _

__Wendy’s hands push at Irene’s thighs and she shifts forward, still sitting at her desk chair. Her gaze remains on Irene’s and she uses her fingers to spread her apart, thumbing lightly at her clit. Irene’s hips jerk forward and Wendy is humming again; something like another _ah-ah_ comes out of her mouth to against one of her thighs and finally between her lips._ _

__Irene nearly loses it when Wendy’s tongue slides inside of her._ _

__She doesn’t know what’s going on. The buildup is really strange: she is acutely aware of how Wendy’s tongue feels like as it slips in and out of her, no particular rhythm, as if she’s purposely dragging each movement out. Irene can only drop a hand in Wendy’s hair, her fingers twisting tightly in the strands as her hips rise off the desk and against her mouth. She can’t keep her eyes open. Sees moment of Wendy’s head buried between her legs, eating her out as if she were simply some kind of meal and the thought of that drives her insane even more._ _

__“How are - _you_ \- good at this?” Irene gasps._ _

__Wendy pauses. Just briefly. Irene can feel the grin against her skin as her tongue is replaced by two of her fingers._ _

__When she looks up, there is hair in her eyes and her mouth is slick._ _

__“Quick study,” she quips._ _

__Irene can only make a sound in the back of her throat. It’s almost guttural and Wendy’s mouth goes back to being between her legs, her tongue back inside of her and Irene swears she’s going to lose it then and there. There’s no warning for when her orgasm hits; it’s messy and it’s loud and her hand swings out, pushing a stack of Wendy’s vocal notes all over her bedroom floor._ _

__The room is only full of the sound of her struggling to breath. She can hear Wendy laugh softly, press a kiss to her thigh, and stand, still in between her legs. She wants to kiss her, Irene thinks. But only thinks - her brain is a mess and she’s pretty sure she’s going to need more than a minute before she moves again, no matter how uncomfortable the desk becomes._ _

__She does look down at Wendy, then up as Wendy moves to lean closer to her, her gaze watching her thoughtfully, enough the point where the heat Irene’s belly reminds her that it’s staying and not far._ _

__“How are you so good?”_ _

__Wendy’s body is pressing into hers. She feels her teeth again her throat and then Wendy’s laugh. “Google,” she quips._ _

__Irene snorts._ _

__“It’s true,” Wendy murmurs and her mouth slides over Irene’s jaw. “The Internet has some magical places.”_ _

__“I don’t want to know.”_ _

__And that, that right there is a lie. Because she wants to know. She’s bordering around a path of obsession that she doesn’t want to go near, but Wendy is making almost impossible not to. She slides her fingers into her hair, biting at her lip but Wendy pulls back, almost playfully._ _

__“Liar,” she murmurs, and there’s also that, right here too - out of all the people in her life, lying to Wendy is literally impossible. She has always been able to see right through her._ _

__Irene can only look away._ _

__She doesn’t say it. _I know _.___ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____ _ _

____Later, they move to watching a movie in Irene’s bed._ _ _ _

____Don’t ask how - Irene swears it was just a blur. Wendy finished her lesson notes. Irene caught up on all the things she missed during the week because of her schedule and the grueling rehearsals. It doesn’t even matter if there was an invitation extended or not._ _ _ _

____What matters is that she’s not wearing any underwear in bed. Not that she does anyway, but Wendy is right next to her and it’s really hard to do this so soon, right after she basically gave her a mind-blowing orgasm on her desk, one she won’t be able to look at the same ever again. It also doesn’t help that Wendy is wearing just a t-shirt too and that neither of them have reached out to the building supervisor or their managers to check on their air situation._ _ _ _

____And if she’s really honest, she does even think she knows what movie they’re watching._ _ _ _

____“How about a rewards system?”_ _ _ _

____The words are out of her mouth even before she gets a chance to really process what she’s saying to Wendy._ _ _ _

____“What?”_ _ _ _

____Irene bites her lip. “A rewards system,” she mumbles, her face hot._ _ _ _

____“But a reward for what?”_ _ _ _

____Irene waves a hand between them quickly. “For whatever’s happening. I -“ She sighs, almost frustrated. “I just... you got me off twice, you know? And I just don’t think that’s fair for you. Friends with benefits, I guess.”_ _ _ _

____Wendy doesn’t laugh, even though Irene expects it. It’s embarrassing all over again and she’s not really sure what she’s asking herself. She’s already admitted to liking when someone else has control; she just not sure what Wendy is getting out of this._ _ _ _

____Or what she wants._ _ _ _

____The movie is forgotten and Wendy turns on her side, her head resting on her hand and one of the pillows. Her free hand moves to Irene’s stomach; it’s purposeful and her fingers spread right over the skin, her nails scraping slightly over her belly._ _ _ _

____“So,” Wendy drawls. She licks her lips. “You want me to take control _and_ reward you for good behavior? Yah, Joohyun-ssi, what do _you_ do on the Internet?”_ _ _ _

____Irene blushes, even though they both know how hard it is for her to admit to not have control. And maybe that’s it, that’s the problem. Maybe has too much control or, at the very least, tries to keep it that way. It’s a lot of her and here, somehow, the words just spit out as if Wendy really knew all along._ _ _ _

____She sighs a little. “What do you think?”_ _ _ _

____“Are you _trying_ to seduce me?”_ _ _ _

____“Is it working?”_ _ _ _

____Wendy laughs huskily. “Maybe,” she says._ _ _ _

____Without warning, she leans in and kisses Irene. There’s nothing harsh about the kiss either. Instead, it’s unexpectedly lazy, Irene arching up to push her tongue right back into Wendy’s. Her head starts to spin a little and somehow, it doesn’t matter who is pressing into who - but there’s a sense of safety with Wendy over her and the fact that Wendy is letting her touch her back. It feels like some kind of step._ _ _ _

____But for the record, Wendy kisses like she sings - she’s basically untouchable and Irene feels every inch of her mouth and tongue right into her core. Her arousal is heavy again and swimming through her head as she slides her fingers back into Wendy’s hair. She’s also kissing her back, like really kissing her back, almost to the point as if her life depended on it. She’s just selfish and needy and complaint, opening her mouth when Wendy bites and pressing her hips back into Wendy’s, as if to remind her that she wants this just as much as she does._ _ _ _

____This is as far as it goes._ _ _ _

____Irene forgets that Wendy never answers._ _ _ _


	3. 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I have a problem.”_
> 
> Irene, on labels.

-

“I have a problem.”

It’s Lisa’s laugh on the other end of the phone, not Jennie – naturally, Irene is insanely embarrassed because really, _oh fuck_.

“Don’t worry,” Lisa tells her, maybe even gently. “I won’t tell – but Jen’s got a big mouth and has literally filled me in with all your play-by-plays. So maybe I can help you out?”

Irene can barely process the offer. She feels a little desperate, and that, there, is more the truth than anything that could come out of her mouth. She does steel herself, looking around the empty practice room to make sure that there isn’t anyone around since, well, she’d literally never hear the end of it from anyone that knows her closely.

“I don’t know what to say,” she half-blurts. Her hand claps over her face and she groans. “I feel like I’m having a mental breakdown over something that can’t even be constituted as _sex_ and yet, the part after, where we’re both lying there and I feel like I could literally give her everything, including control that I want _no one_ to have –”

“You sound like Jennie,” Lisa cuts in. The amusement in her voice breaks through too. “And that’s, like, nearly impossible to do.”

“You’re not helping.”

Lisa laughs, out right then. “Look,” she says and seems to sigh too. “I know Jennie’s life advice borders, well, _is_ a pathological mess but I do think that she’s right when she says that you think about things too much and maybe it’s nice that you’re in a situation, whatever you want to call it, where you feel safe enough to give your sense of control over?”

Irene is quiet. She stares at herself in the mirror. Her fingers are splayed over her stomach, playing with the fabric of her t-shirt.

“No one’s asking you to define anything either,” Lisa finishes. “And maybe that’s where you should start – maybe you should tell her that you want to see where this goes? That might be the best place, you know. She might surprise and you might surprise yourself. If anything, it’s usually how it goes. Besides, planning your life out? It’s really boring.”

There’s an answer to that, of course, but it strays far from her mouth. Irene turns away from the mirror and shakes her head. Some habits are just too heavy, she thinks. Then stops thinking – what else can she do?

“I just realized that you answered Jennie’s phone,” she says, and Lisa’s laugh is just enough to break her tension.

At some point, the company starts to entertain the idea of full group promotions. 

They all knew it was coming; four of them were hesitant, but it was Wendy who shrugged, probably in the most Wendy-like way, and said something to the effect of _well I really can’t hide forever_ and somehow, they all just knew that had already made her decision without them.

It should make her angry and it really does, right up until the other girls disperse from the apartment with plans since this was probably going to be their final few weeks of relative freedom. She finds herself slamming dishes around in the kitchen, trying not to think about her worries and the conversations she’s had until this point. Friends with benefits, she thinks. Who thought this was a good idea? It’s just easier to start kicking herself mentally.

Until she breaks a glass in the kitchen sink.

Wendy must have heard her – she’s suddenly, very acutely aware of her presence by her side, so much so that her ears are ringing and she feels her eyes widen as Wendy grabs her hand, cursing under her breath.

“What’s your problem?” Wendy seems fixated on checking her hand for cuts. There are a couple of small ones too, on the tips of her index finger and middle fingers. “You’ve been cranky ever since the meeting.”

Irene tries to fix her face. “I haven’t.”

“You’re the world’s worst liar,” Wendy counters. She looks up, her bangs sweeping over her eyes. “ _Especially_ when you’re cranky.”

Now would be the time. See, Irene is not someone who would prepare some kind grandiose confession; nor is it her style, given that her personal things, her really personal things, desires and wants and needs, stay particularly close to her, as if she’s afraid to let them out and run in the open. It also takes a toll on her and she’s more than aware of that and doing this, right now, with Wendy makes her ache and want to run at the same time.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she says quietly.

Wendy pauses from looking at her hands.

“I don’t know what the right thing is to say, outside of I can’t stop thinking about you when I’m alone and how when I think about you now, my skin feels like it’s on fire and touching myself is not the same anymore because I can get myself _there_ but it’s not there because of _you_ and that pisses me off and thrills me and I just –” She stops herself, staring at Wendy. “Isn’t there some guidebook?” She finishes weakly.

“Google,” Wendy offers dryly, and Irene snorts, almost hitting her.

“It just makes me feel like I’m being selfish. And an asshole.”

Wendy raises an eyebrow. “You act like I’m doing this because you’re making me. Which is almost insulting and cute?” Irene blushes and then is mystified when Wendy takes her fingers and drags them over her lips. She pulls them into her mouth and sucks a little, earning a soft, harsh gasp from Irene. “Look,” she murmurs. “At some point, you just have to let this move on its own. Do I know what I want? Not really. Do I like doing this with you?”

“Do _you_?” Irene is almost breathless as Wendy presses into her, a leg slipping between both of hers.

“I do.” Wendy’s mouth hovers over hers, her fingers forgotten. “Of course, I do.”

Irene has no idea who kisses who first, just that Wendy’s mouth is on hers, hot and heavy and like that, her mind goes blank. She’s demanding, but not insistent – the kiss is slow and lazy and Irene opens her mouth to let Wendy slide her tongue inside, dragging it across hers. Her hips arch too and she finds herself grinding right into Wendy’s knee.

The mood in the room is changing too – not quite frantic, but heat is beginning to build and Irene feels her arousal growing. She’s not thinking and maybe that’s the problem, thinking too much about this, about her, and about them. 

“Can I –”

Wendy’s eyes are half-lidded, her lips wet and bruised when Irene pulls back. _I did this_ , Irene thinks. It’s almost possessive.

“It’s my turn,” she finishes and suddenly, she turns them, pressing Wendy against the kitchen sink. “Stay,” she orders.

She wants to say things like _I’ve never done this before_ or _I only know what I like_ neither of which are completely true, but at this point, she thinks, she’s already committed to see this through. Irene finds herself sliding to her knees, between Wendy’s legs and hooking her fingers through the waistband of her skirt. She peels it away from Wendy’s legs, her underwear following suit. 

She licks her lips. Wendy is quiet, still watching her.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” she murmurs, leaning forward to press her mouth against Wendy’s thigh. She hears the sharp intake of breath and thinks _good_ and _you too_. There’s some triumph in that. “About how you look when you were between my legs. It’s kind of dirty, you know?”

She doesn’t wait for a response, sliding her fingers between Wendy’s legs, her thumb grazing her clit. Wendy makes a heavy sound, somewhere between a moan and a laugh and Irene does it again, this time sliding a finger inside of her, only to feel Wendy clench around her, just slightly.

Irene feels her own arousal. Her mouth feels dry. Still, she says it:

“I think you’re beautiful.”

There’s a shift in the dynamic. Irene keeps her finger inside of Wendy, sliding in a second and then leaning forward to press her mouth over her clit. Wendy gasps a little and her hips buck with surprise against her mouth and Irene can feel is how wet she is and how sticky her mouth is and the sharpness of the taste of her. Her brain feels like it’s going to explode with the knowledge and her tongue starts to swirl over her clit, stumbling into some kind of pace for this.

Wendy’s fingers slide into her hair. She’s making more sounds, heavy sounds, and it sets off some primal urge in Irene. She can’t help but keep telling herself _I did this_ or _she’s like this because of me_ and there’s an intense kind of pleasure knowing that, knowing that she can see Wendy wither under her mouth, that Wendy is just as affected by this as she was with her.

Her mind starts to lose each part of the picture then, blurring as her own arousal becomes heavier and heavier. Above her, Wendy is practically panting, her fingers tightening in her hair hard as her orgasm hits. It won’t stun Irene until later, but she draws back on her knees, her mouth still wet as she watches Wendy’s breathing come out in heaves. She slowly pulls her fingers out of her and makes sure to stand, even as her knees threaten to buckle, only to brush a kiss over Wendy’s mouth.

“See,” the other girl says, letting out a shaky laugh. “You can do it too.”

They don’t talk until later.

It’s not because she doesn’t want to talk – Irene doesn’t know what to say. It’s not just a purely physical relationship; although, she’s beginning to believe that the two of them are just incapable of doing just that. She starts to really obsess over that part too, wondering where she and Wendy became more complicated and nuanced than she ever knew, as it were just a universal conspiracy. It’s hard too, mostly because Irene prefers things in her life in order and not just order, it’s order with reason. They can be complicated, but there’s structure to that.

“That’s crazy,” Wendy says, finally. They’ve decided to go for a walk by the river because it’s late and no one is really looking for them. “You’ve literally decided to put people in boxes that they don’t belong in or want to be in.”

Irene shrugs helplessly. “It makes sense to me.”

It’s a cold summer night. Maybe, it’s more because they’re closer to the river. There’s a breeze and it smells like rain, the heavy rain that starts at the beginning of the season, stretching until you’re desperate to see the sun. Irene likes the cold nights and her hands are hidden by long sleeves, swinging with her arms because she doesn’t want to reach for anything, including the other girl.

But she also wants to explain. It makes it harder that Wendy’s right in front of her, that Wendy is really pretty right now, and that Irene, in the end, is a sucker for the right place and the right mood. She catches herself staring too: watching as the wind pushes at Wendy’s hair, as her cheeks begin to flush under the breeze, and how desperately she wants to ignore the urge to reach for her in some way.

“I think that’s why I thought this was a good idea.” Irene swallows, looking down. Her hair spills over her face. “The idea of having no attachment, of doing something that’ll release all the stress – it’s selfish, believe me, I know, but I feel like I’ve had all this stuff bottled up inside of me and I’m almost to the point of exploding.”

“I could tell,” Wendy says dryly and Irene’s blushing, glad for the low-lit street lamps and that it’s nighttime, for once.

“You don’t have to keep doing this.”

Wendy shrugs. “I didn’t say I wanted to stop though.”

“I just – what?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to stop,” Wendy repeats, amused.

“But it’s been a mess,” Irene tries to point out. She doesn’t know if she’s panicking. She tries to wrap herself back into her shirt, but just ends up clawing at her sleeves. “I feel like I’ve literally invaded your space.”

Wendy snorts. “You’re literally not listening.”

“I’m _trying_ to,” she protests. It’s like her nerves have a mind of their own. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“Take a deep breath.” Wendy reaches over and brushes her hair back. Then pulls away quickly. “Before we keep going.”

She’s quiet then too. Wendy isn’t exactly looking at her; Irene takes that moment to watch her, like _really_ watch her, studying the way her hair frames her face, how she’s completely at ease, more than she has been in months and something about that really pushes at her heart, sets off these butterflies in her belly that are too many different emotions to pick through.

“I think,” Wendy starts first, and then slowly, “both of us have an idea of each other that isn’t necessarily… us. For one, you’re weirdly submissive sometimes.”

Irene’s face is hot. “I know,” she mumbles.

“It’s hot.” Wendy’s laugh is husky and warm and it very nearly sends Irene spiraling. “But that’s besides the point,” she says too. “I’m curious. And I like that I’m curious and… exploring things, I guess. I only know myself intimately. I don’t know –” She laughs again, tapping the side of her head. “It all makes sense in here, I guess. My point really is that I’m learning too. About you. About me. What I like, what I don’t. It’s nice that it’s with you. And it’s fun.”

“I feel guilty though,” Irene finally admits. It comes out in a blur. She sighs loudly, shaking her head. She almost stumbles walking too, saving face when a biker whizzes past them on the path. She tries again. “I feel like I’m just taking from you without even asking you what _you_ want. I literally came to you a mess and continue to be _a_ mess. There’s nothing attractive about that.”

Wendy reaches over then, flicking her forehead. The motion stuns her briefly and she’s smiling still, rolling her eyes.

“You’re not listening,” Wendy chides again. Her voice softens and she leans forward, so much so that Irene stills, eyes wide as her mouth basically hovers right over hers. Here, in public. “Sometimes you get too worried about what’s going on around you and forget to listen to what’s happening right in front of you. So I guess I’ll have to say it again. I like this.”

“I like this too,” Irene says softly, swallowing.

Wendy’s mouth curls. “I’m okay with whatever this is too,” she murmurs. “And I definitely don’t need thirty labels to enjoy being with you, whatever it turns out to be.”

The relief that hits her is immense. Her shoulders sag. She doesn’t know why, but it feels like she can breathe all the sudden.

“So,” she says, “we’re not friends with benefits – well, not in the traditional sense.”

Wendy smirks. “When have we ever been traditional? It’s even more apparent now that we see each other naked too.”

“You have a point.”

True to form, Irene even reaches out, smacking Wendy in the butt. She squeaks, then laughs, glaring almost playfully at her. Call it whatever, she thinks. Take _your_ own advice.

“And I’ve always wanted to do that,” Irene says too, sending Wendy into laughter. The other girl twists and starts to walk backwards, mock-protecting her butt. Irene grins and Wendy grins and it’s all a little silly.

She still tries to remember the last time she’s done something like this, walking the river and with someone else, not caring or worrying about who sees what, how they see it, and how it makes her just a little too crazy. It’s weird too, knowing that she can breathe and now actually _breathing_ without feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. There are no expectations, but it makes her excited and curious and a little scared, knowing that they are on similar pages.

And maybe that’s why she does it – her hand shoots out, wrapping around Wendy’s. She laces their fingers together, biting her lip as both of their hands press palm to palm and she thinks, _wonders_ if she’ll get the same kind of feeling if it’s more that, if it’s skin to skin. It makes her swallow and look up at Wendy, reaching forward to tuck some hair behind her ear again.

“This too,” she adds quietly. It could mean a lot of things: the walk, her hand wrapped around Wendy’s, and just the two of them. Maybe it’s not important. Maybe it is.

All of it is true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I had fun writing it - see you in the next one!

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't intend on starting a new series? But here we are again.
> 
> I wrote this part entirely on my phone because work has been nuts and it's been a nice break from the madness. I'm only planning on this being three parts, I believe, or maybe four. So as always thank you so much for reading and hopefully, you all enjoy the ride!


End file.
